The Lives and Deaths of Malcolm Merlyn
by DieAstra
Summary: How could Malcolm Merlyn survive that last fight with Oliver? Because he's actually the immortal Jack Harkness. Now Malcolm thinks about the mess that is his life. Memories of the past arise – good and bad ones. Set after the finale of season 1 of "Arrow", also spoilers for "Torchwood" up till season 4
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Malcolm Merlyn had died of far worse things back when he used to be Jack Harkness. The arrow Oliver had stabbed through his chest rated only a 1 on a scale of 1 to 10. The death had come rather quickly and so it didn't take long for him to revive. Luckily, nobody had been around, as Oliver already had gone God-knows-where and his bodyguard had been calling the police. It had not been difficult at all to get away from that roof unseen and leave the authorities baffled about the whereabouts of his corpse.

Now he is sitting hidden in one of his many secret places, watching the TV news.

"_Tommy Merlyn, son of Malcolm Merlyn, the owner of Merlyn Global Group, is one of the victims of the heavy earthquake that hit Starling City earlier today. He died at the age of twenty-eight while helping to evacuate people from a collapsing building. Earlier this evening Moira Queen from Queen Consolidated claimed that Malcolm Merlyn had been planning an attack on parts of the city. If the earthquake was part of this attack, that would make him responsible for the death of his own son. We had so far no luck getting a statement from Mr. Merlyn…"_

Malcolm watches motionless as the newsman goes on, his emotions buried so deep down inside him that he just feels numb. Then realization starts to set in. He never will speak to his son again. He has killed his own flesh and blood. Anger and shame and regret battle inside him, heat rises up his throat. An animal-like scream bursts from his mouth, and enraged, he hits the wall with his fist, hard enough to break his wrist. He doesn't care about it one bit. His body is good at repairing itself. His soul, on the other hand...

His ragged breath turns into quiet sobs, as he mourns yet another death that he is responsible for. One more to add to the long list.

Alison… Alex... Suzie… Estelle… John… Beth… Tosh… Owen… Clem… Ianto…, Steven… Rebecca… Vera… Angelo… Esther… and many, many other names and faces. With every one of these deaths, he had died a little more on the inside as well, until he had become hard and unforgiving.

After Ianto's death he finally had had enough. He only caused death and destruction wherever he went, and he figured people would be better off without him. And that he would be better off without anyone ever getting close to him again. Since nobody was there anymore to point out all the good that he also had done, he had severed all ties to Earth. He had then gone wherever a man who didn't care whether he lived or died and who didn't ask too many questions was needed. There was always a war to be fought on one planet or another. And somewhere among all the deaths and bloodshed, he had lost his soul.

He doesn't miss it one bit. Life is easier that way.

Not being able to sit still any longer, Malcolm starts to pace, walking circles in the small room. He tries to concentrate on what he is going to do next, but the ghosts of the past keep haunting him.

One assignment from those years still stands out in his memory, as it actually hadn't involved a war for a change. The owner of a nuclear power station which had exploded recently and was spilling radiation into the atmosphere, had needed someone to close the holes until it was safe enough for others to join in with the sealing of the power plant. Malcolm had volunteered.

=/=/=/=/=

It had taken place in one of the last corners of the universe that still used nuclear fission, instead of any of the modern ways to generate electricity. Seldom in his travels had Malcolm seen once-modern technology in such poor condition. And now it had bitten the people living on that planet in the ass.

In the end, nobody was able to tell anymore what had gone wrong. The wrong button had been pushed at the wrong time, and all too quickly they had reached the point of no return. The coolant system was not able to deal anymore with the increasing heat of the fuel rods, and only a few hours later the meltdown had started.

While the people living nearby were being evacuated, the workers of the power plant had tried their best, but had to admit defeat in the end. Soon after they retreated, the building had exploded.

That's when Malcolm came in. Someone had to go to the core of the plant, and seal the holes in the containment sheets, as well as the holes in the outer concrete hull. The radiation was so strong, that not even robots could be used for these tasks. They just stopped working.

Some men in protective suits accompanied Malcolm to the outer area, to show him how to work the technical equipment and to start to construct a new hull, but he needed to walk inside alone to fulfill the task. To be able to move and use his tools more freely, he hadn't bothered with any suit. It wouldn't have done any good against prolonged exposure anyway, and he probably would have a hard time finding one that actually fit him, as the people on this planet were much taller and thinner than him. Therefore he could feel the tingling of the radiation on his skin, which soon turned into burning.

He only managed a few steps into the facility before he died for the first time. And that's what the next days and weeks were made of – working a bit, welding the fissures in the sheets of the reactor vessel. Dying, waking up again, working some more, dying again. Starting to fill reinforcement and concrete into the holes of the containment building. Dying again. And again. And again.

He didn't even bother to eat or drink, as usually he died before he felt hunger or thirst. The longer it went on, the longer it took for him to revive each time. Also, the more painful it became. Still, he longed for those short periods of blackness, as they were the only times he did not have to think. There was no brooding then; there was peace and quiet in the darkness. These short bits of relief were all that kept him sane. Whenever he awoke anew, for a few seconds he hoped that he had just been dreaming and that he was at home again, with Ianto and the rest of the Torchwood team, fighting Weevils and Blowfish and not caring what the next day might bring.

But he never was, and slowly the memory of them faded, like it had with all the people he had met and loved and lost in his life before. It was a never-ending circle which he was not able to break or escape.

=/=/=/=/=

Yesterday, when he had held Oliver captive in his cellar, trying to convince him to join the battle for the greater good, he couldn't help admiring the scars on Oliver's upper body. Thinking about them now, he realizes how much he envies them. They are reminders of all the things Oliver has endured and done in his life; each scar could probably tell a whole story of its own.

Malcolm himself has nothing to show for his struggles. Whenever he dies and comes back to life, his body goes back to its default - the way it had been before his first death by that Dalek on Satellite 5. Of course, he has some minor scratches from his life as a Time Agent, including one he always has wondered about – several small dots in a half circle on his thigh, looking like an animal bite in fact. He must have obtained it in the two years that later got deleted from his memory. But they all are so old and almost faded now. He longs to add a few new ones to the collection.

Why go through all that trouble with battle and war if you have nothing to brag about later to your grandchildren?

Malcolm suddenly stands very still and stares into space, having completely forgotten where he is and what he is doing for the moment. That last thought had come out of the blue and pierced his heart in such a physical way that at first he thinks he is having a heart attack.

Grandchildren. He had killed his grandson Steven while trying to save the rest of the children of the Earth, and now he had killed Tommy and therefore any chance to become a granddad again.

He always has the best intentions and the worst outcome.

Life sucks.

He grabs the picture frame that holds a picture of Rebecca, Tommy and himself, all three smiling into the camera. He remembers the day it was taken – they had celebrated Tommy having been selected for the baseball team at his elementary school. His son had been so happy and proud that day after the trainer had said that he was the fastest runner on the team.

While staring at the picture, another memory of another baseball game many years later arises. One Malcolm had failed to attend.

=/=/=/=/=

The phone rang. Malcolm gingerly picked it up. The caller ID told him it was Tommy, but he had known that even before looking at it. He had expected that call. In fact, he should have been the one calling Tommy, and all afternoon long he had tried to think of the right thing to say. What did someone say to his son after breaking a promise like this?

"Malcolm Merlyn."

"Where have you been, Dad?" Tommy's voice sounded a little slurred, as if he were drunk. Malcolm heard the voices of others in the background. A party, then. That meant they had won. That also meant he would have to have the conversation about fake ID cards and alcohol and responsibility again. But not now. Now was not the right time.

"I'm sorry, Tommy, it was not possible for me to come." _Because last night the Dark Archer had almost been caught by the police and his only way out had been jumping from the third floor through a window._ "Because something happened at the company and it was important that we act immediately." _It was important that nobody saw his face, which had many little cuts from all those sharp pieces of broken glass._ "Also, I think I'm getting the flu and I didn't want you to catch it too." _Also, he had some broken ribs which made it quite difficult to talk normally without gasps. Not to mention the broken leg which made it impossible to drive._ _His body had failed him, not healing in time to make the travel to Tommy's college._

He should have never gone out last night, and he regretted it deeply. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't be there."

Tommy snorted.

"You knew how important that game was for us. You promised, Dad. You couldn't leave your company for one lousy day?"

His accusations hurt Malcolm more than he wanted to admit. If only he could tell his son the truth, things would be so much easier between the two of them. But it was too early yet. He had to wait for the right time. Tommy needed to be ready before he was let in on his big secret. Malcolm had to be patient. He had learned to be patient, he could do it.

"Did you win?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter direction.

"Thought you would never ask. Of course we did. I hit a home run. Mr. Queen filmed it. In case you want the video."

Malcolm had to close his eyes. Of course, Robert would have been there as well. _He_ never failed to attend his son's activities. Even though Oliver never stuck with anything for long. Robert and Oliver were always there to support Tommy as well. He could hear that Tommy wished his Dad was a little bit like Mr. Queen. He had wanted to avoid one minefield and had stepped right into the next. Great.

He gripped the phone harder than was necessary, his knuckles standing out white. His voice betrayed nothing though when he answered, "That would be great, thanks. I'll try to be there next time, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever. I don't care." And with that the line was dead.

Malcolm stared for a long time at the phone in his hand, before slowly laying it at the table in front of him.

To be continued in chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

His phone beeps. He glances at the caller ID. Probably just another press guy who wants a statement about what had happened today. How did they even get his number? Clearly one of his employees is not as loyal towards his boss as he should be. For a moment, Malcolm considers taking the opportunity to tell his version of the story. The people need some perspective. Couldn't they see that what he had done is only for the best? A fresh new start. Just a few more years, and the city will be blooming and rising. It really is regrettable that he won't be around to see this.

Holding his broken wrist close to his body, he awkwardly gets out a suitcase and starts to pack up, one-handed, some things he wants to take with him. Other stuff will have to be left behind. Like Rebecca's ring. Wherever he will be going, he cannot risk being recognized because he carries a sentimental memory of his past. It is a hard decision but one that needs to be made. Maybe one day he will be able to come back for it.

Before he met Rebecca, he had been merely existing, feeling all cold and uncaring. And he figured he would have to live like this for the next ten thousand years or so. Thus he also had become a drinker. Whenever he felt too sorry for himself, only a hypervodka could make him forget for a while, and often it didn't end at the first one.

But after about 200 years of hopping through space and time, 200 years of mindless fights and mindless sex which had left him all numb, he had found himself back on planet Earth.

Rebecca had been the first to breach his shell after a very long time. She hadn't asked who he was or where he came from. It was one of her character traits which he so loved and later so hated as it was responsible for her death in the end. Which again proved to him that it was better to not care, because people just didn't deserve it.

=/=/=/=/=

The day he met his wife had been a rainy day in Starling City and lying on the sidewalk, slowly bleeding to death, wasn't the nicest thing to do. He didn't even remember how he had received that knife stab to his belly – just some bar fight that had spiraled out of control quickly. He'd searched for a dark corner where he could wait for his life to start anew. He wished he already was over and done with it, because to be honest, it hurt like shit.

And then there suddenly was this woman, looking like an angel in his hazed state. Delirium had set in and it wouldn't be long now. But she wouldn't let it happen. She pressed against his wound to stop the blood flow, telling him that an ambulance was on its way. It hurt even more than before and he cried out, trying to shove her hands away. He wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she just should let him die, but he wasn't able to form coherent words. Then everything had gone black.

He awoke in a white bed in a hospital, still feeling very much like crap. He figured he must have only passed out and so had to take the slow-healing road. He would have to, in fact, regularly re-open his wound, otherwise his quick healing abilities would raise suspicion among the doctors. Oh joy.

Of course, he could have just walked out the door at night, leaving no trail behind, but there was something about this dark-haired woman that fascinated him. He wanted to get to know her better. So, while he was playing the slowly-healing patient, they would often have very long conversations late at night when the other patients were asleep and she had a bit of free time. He found that he looked quite forward to her visits. It did scare him a bit. She made him feel vulnerable.

Originally, he just had wanted to scam Rebecca for her money and be on his way again. Love had come totally unexpectedly and after such a long time without any, he felt that he had been deprived, and for a short while blossomed in it.

The money she had inherited from her father became the foundation for the Merlyn Global Group. Being from the future he knew enough about the economy of the twentieth century to successfully buy and sell stock and build a significant amount of capital. He became a respected member of the society of Starling City, founding a hospital and several other things to help the people in the Glades. It was mainly his wife's wish, but he went along with everything that made her happy.

And then he became a dad once again and the early years with Tommy and Rebecca held some of his happier memories. He had thought he had found his place in life once again, at least for a little while. Until the day when his family would discover about him not aging and he had to be on the run again.

But before it came to that the peace got destroyed by a single gunshot. His wife got murdered in the Glades for only about hundred dollars, money she would have given happily if she had been asked for it. And while she lay bleeding to death on the sidewalk, people just walked past and ignored her pleas for help.

And Malcolm himself had been too busy with making even more money on that fateful evening. Maybe, if he hadn't shut down his phone, he would have been able to help his wife in time. He couldn't stop thinking about that "Maybe". He could have called an ambulance, hell, he would have hurried to her side in a heartbeat if only he had known. But as it was, he only heard the news when, around Midnight, two police officers came to his office where he still was working. He managed to keep himself together as long as they were there. He refused to take the card with a psychiatrist's number they offered, as he felt no shrink would be able to help him. Finally they gave up and left and he spent the rest of the night listening to the messages Rebecca had left on his mail box. He listened to her calling his name, crying, saying how much she loved him and Tommy until her voice became weaker and weaker and then there was only silence. He would have happily given all his money to get her back. Only, it was too late.

He was not able to think straight anymore. He would have done everything to get a second chance. While mourning her and grasping at straws he stumbled upon three names – Ablemarch, Costerdane and Frines. These three rich families seemed to work together, doing research in prolonging human life. They hoped at some time in the future even to be able to bring back people from death. It seemed like an idea worth pursuing. Malcolm didn't allow his wife to be buried. At the reception before her funeral he had only an empty coffin. He explained to all their friends and family that Rebecca's death had been so violent, it was better everyone kept her in their memories the way they knew her, and therefore he had decided against an open coffin.

The truth was that he had let his wife be frozen in a cryogenic unit where she would be stored until the day it was possible to bring her back. The technology wasn't very advanced yet, but now the three families promised to do more research, and so Malcolm transferred a huge amount of his money to the account of one of their contacts.

But shortly after doing so he realized that this was not enough to make him feel any better. He had shut himself off from anyone including his own son in his rage and grief, and so some weeks later he left Tommy in the care of his nanny and just fled overnight. He traveled the world restlessly for a while, always on the run, always on the search, not being able to stay anywhere for long because the ghosts of the past accompanied him wherever he went.

Then he found Nanda Parbat, that mythical place he only had heard rumors about before.

It changed his life completely. There was no time left for brooding in between all the training he got there – martial arts, meditating, sword fighting, archery, and countless more – the physical skills he always had had from his former life were refined and reawakened. He also learned how to make his own bow that had the exact length and type of wood, being smooth and yet firm, to become, in effect, another limb. At the Time Agency he had been taught how to use all kinds of complicated technology and weapons, but there was something about the simplicity of a bow and arrow that really fascinated him.

Hunting and surviving in the wilderness became a whole new experience as well. He listened, he compared with what he knew already, and stored away all new information for future usage.

Until his teacher claimed he was not able to do anything more for him.

=/=/=/=/=

That day Ra's al Ghul led Malcolm to the two fields where the monks were raising crops. "These two fields represent the balance of Good and Bad in the world. One field has been left on its own and see what happened: The stalks are small, because the weeds have been allowed to grow uncontrollably. Now see the other field where we ripped out the weeds, as well as the stalks that were small and crooked. The others are growing strong and high and will make a good harvest, the start of a new circle of sowing and harvesting."

Malcolm understood immediately what the man was trying to say with this metaphor. It was so obvious that he wondered why he hadn't come to this conclusion much earlier. Rip out the bad to help the good grow. He could do that.

It hadn't been easy telling Ra's al Ghul about the death of his wife and the things that troubled him. It had taken a long time and much patience from the other man before Malcolm had been able to open up. Now he felt connected to him in a way he never had felt before. Although Ra's never said a thing Malcolm sensed that he must have experienced some similar loss in his life.

"The Glades are everywhere," Ra's continued, showing Malcolm a bundle of straw. "We are like this bundle of straw. One by one, we can be broken," and he demonstrated by easily snapping them in half one by one.

"Now try breaking them as a bundle!" Malcolm took the thick bundle of straws and tried to break it, but although he put all of his strength into it, the straws only bent but did not break. Having learned his lesson, he gave them back to Ra's.

"It's time for you," Ra's said. "Go home and do what you have to do. We will do the same in other places of need. Together we will make it!"

When Malcolm came home, only two years had passed there, but he had been away for much longer. He had turned his own body into the ultimate weapon, and he had a goal now: To get rid of the cancer that had befallen Starling City. So he set to his task with determination, bringing Robert and Frank and others on board with his Undertaking, and using his other personality as the Dark Archer whenever official means were not enough.

Mainly when someone who knew too much had to be taken care of.

To be continued in chapter 3


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He opens the closet to see if there are any suitable clothes left. He hasn't been in this hideout for a while, but there are two suits on the hangers. He takes them out to inspect them for any moth holes. That's when he finds the note. A hastily-scribbled note saying "I love you" in his suit pocket. In Moira's handwriting.

He has to sit down. He remembers how angry and betrayed he had felt when he saw her doing that press conference yesterday. Telling the whole world about his Undertaking, setting the police after him. He should let his Dark Archer persona take care of her, but he… can't. Because they have… a past.

=/=/=/=/=

It had started innocently enough, as those things always do. One night after he had been back from his quest for answers, she had turned up on his doorstep at a very late hour.

"Is my husband here?" she demanded to know.

Malcolm was surprised. "No, he went home more than three hours ago. Moira, do you have an idea how late it is?"

She brushed past him and settled on the large leather sofa.

"Come on in," he said belatedly and closed the door.

"What about last Saturday?"

"I was in Denver on a business meeting for the whole weekend. Moira, what's going on?"

He crossed the room and perched at the edge of the coffee table, across from her. Close enough to be able to comfort her, yet mindful of her personal space.

"Well, if he's not here and since he's not home, that means he's cheating. I have been suspecting this for quite a while already."

Her voice was surprisingly steady when she stated those facts, but she looked as if she had been crying earlier. Her mascara wasn't as tidy as it usually was. And her hands shook slightly.

Malcolm took them into his own hands. "I'm sure there is an explanation." His mind raced. He couldn't really picture Robert going for some young chick while he had this wonderful woman in his house.

Malcolm cleared his throat at that thought and went to get Moira a drink. If he were honest, he needed one himself. She had come at a bad time. He managed to hold himself together all day long, in front of others, playing the businessman who appeared to have accepted his fate and just carried on. But at night, he still listened to his dead wife's phone calls.

Tonight was such a night. He just hoped Moira wouldn't notice.

But when he returned with the drinks, she already had spotted the cell phone lying on the table. He stood there in the middle of the room, a drink in each hand, suddenly helpless about what to do next.

Moira got up from the couch and took one of the glasses from him. Their eyes met when they started sipping. He was astonished to see tears in Moira's.

"Malcolm," she said in a very quiet voice which quivered a little. "Why are you still doing this to yourself?"

He was at a loss for words. There weren't any to describe how much he was missing Rebecca, how much it still hurt. He was able to forget sometimes, but never to forgive himself. And here was Moira, at the moment hurting as much as he did. Two people who were lost and alone, and she was close enough that he could smell her perfume.

And now she was taking the empty glass from him, putting it aside. He saw where this was leading, and in a last attempt to be responsible, he turned his back, staring out into the night through the window. He sucked in a few breaths, trying to compose himself.

She came after him, standing close, but not touching him. They stood like that for quite a while, not saying anything. It still was more than he could take. Malcolm felt his eyes welling up, almost choking on the words tumbling out of him. "I miss her… I just miss her so much…," and he turned and buried his wet face in her shoulder, not wanting to let her see his suffering, but not being able to do anything against it either. Moira put her arms around him and they stood for a while, clinging to each other.

And so it happened. The first kisses were tentative, searching, until they became more demanding. It didn't take long for them to end up in bed that first night. They were both giving and receiving comfort. After that first night, Moira came back to him a few more times, and it felt good.

Until Robert came to his senses and returned to his wife, and Moira made it clear that she would stay with him, for the sake of Oliver. That's when their secret meetings suddenly ended, and Malcolm had to deal with yet another loss. It wasn't easy seeing her at parties in the Queen's house and not being able to be close to her. They always were very careful in the public so nobody suspected a thing. The press would have a field day if their secret came out.

Malcolm also always suspected that he was the father of Thea, but didn't pursue this thought, as he did not want to destroy an otherwise happy family.

To be continued in chapter 4


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Then something incredible happened. On one day in July, the people of Earth suddenly stopped dying. Soon the press was calling this day "Miracle Day". A lot of scientists tried to find out what exactly had happened and how to reverse it, but Malcolm was the only one who had an idea where to search. Since he had been so busy with other things recently, he had totally forgotten about the money he had long ago sent anonymously. Something must have gone horribly wrong there.

He tried to make contact with the three families, but all attempts led to nothing. They had covered their traces well. Then he was forced to switch back to his old persona of Jack Harkness after the word "Torchwood" started to turn up in CIA searches. Something had to be done to protect his secret but it was not easy. Too many years had gone by since he last had been Jack and it took a while to be comfortable in this role again. And the fact that, in a sick joke of the universe, he had become mortal again, didn't help much.

He contemplated using this one chance to die for the last time, to end his life and just be done with all the struggles, but in the end he couldn't. His work in the Glades was not finished yet, and Ra's al Ghul was counting on him. So Malcolm aka Jack went along and pretended to know nothing about what happened.

He found Gwen and Rhys again in their hideout in Wales. All three of them felt oddly uncomfortable with each other. It had been a long time after all. Luckily, there had not been much time to talk. First that helicopter chasing them down the beach had to be taken care of, and then the police caught them. The CIA kidnapped them and even tried to kill him on the plane back to America. He added arsenic poisoning to his list of least favorite ways to die. Damn, that had hurt, burning through his veins as if it was trying to rip him apart from the inside. He remembered clutching at his heart, gripping the seat and Gwen's hand, anything in a frantic attempt for relief; something to make this stop because if it went on any longer he wouldn't be able to hold back his screams anymore, and he was close, so close to giving in…

Luckily the EDTA Gwen had created, no, macgyvered, while ripping the plane apart had worked in the end. But things went only downhill from there.

Suddenly, there were some new team members: Rex and Esther from the CIA. Just as well, because it gave him a chance to stay a bit in the background, give the lead to Rex. Watching, comparing, waiting for his chance. When they were coming too close to the truth, he led them on some false trails while trying to find out how to set this right without bringing too much attention to himself. While he had given his money to help saving people that had died before their time, even he could see that a planet full of not-dying people was trouble that needed to be fixed.

=/=/=/=/=

Finally the journey ended in a pit deep down under Shanghai. And it turned out that he was much more connected to the so-called "Miracle" than he ever had suspected. It hadn't been his money, it was the blood he had lost so long ago after Angelo's betrayal. He had scrubbed this event from his mind and tried not to think about it anymore, but images of how he was held prisoner and had been tortured to death again and again still rose unbidden now that he was staring at this woman who had used his blood to feed the thing she called "The Blessing".

And Malcolm stood right in front of it, feeling it calling for him. Like a magnet it drew him closer, until he looked down into the emptiness.

It was as if he experienced all of his roughly 2,400 years of life at the same time. It didn't hurt but it was overwhelming. Images, faces, names fluttered by, too quickly to consciously recognize anything. Like a movie on very fast-forward. He was feeling at least twenty emotions at the same time. All of his life in the blink of an eye. He also felt being judged. As if someone weighted all the good things he had done against the bad. And he felt confusion coming off the thing, as if it didn't know which side would win.

For a short moment time seemed to stand still. Dimly, he heard Gwen say, "We're so used to these things being extraterrestrial, but this might be the most terrestrial thing of them all." Only when Esther was shot as a last resort to stop them, did he wake from his trance. Time to end it for once and all, even if it meant that Esther would die along with everyone else that already was living dead. Again the fate of the whole world lay in his hands, and he had to decide between the life of one person and the life of millions. It was a burden almost too heavy to bear.

Suddenly he knew what had to be done. "It wants me. Mortal blood. The only one in the whole world. If it gets into the Blessing life switches back. I can make the whole world mortal."

And so he did, with a little help from Rex on the other side of the world in a similar pit under Buenos Aires. Just when Malcolm was about to slice his wrists open with his knife, Gwen stepped in.

"Just one last thing, Jack."

"What is it?"

"You're never gonna be a suicide."

He thanked her silently with a last glance, then turned his back. Her bullet ripped a huge hole into his chest, and he watched his blood fly into the bottomless pit and just hoped they were doing the right thing. All that blood getting sucked out of him hurt, and he screamed out his fear and rage and wished that finally, finally he would find peace.

Then everything went black.

When he awoke again, he was totally confused. Around him the world tumbled in an earthquake; he had to shield himself against stones falling from the ceiling. For a while he just sat there, wondering what had gone wrong this time. He certainly hadn't expected to wake up again. He looked down and saw the hole in his chest closing just like that. He guessed that meant he was immortal again. Peachy.

And then there was Gwen, and she helped him up and to the lift and then they were just running, running away when the whole thing exploded, and he never once looked back.

To be continued in chapter 5


End file.
